


Darkest Heart

by peechipo



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Friendship/Love, M/M, Mature Themes Later On, Open yourself to this weird ship, Roleplay Logs, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peechipo/pseuds/peechipo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The land of Valoran is harsh, filled with bloodshed and treachery- can two powerful League champions from vastly different worlds come together to form an unlikely friendship...or even love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work being submitted here! I hope you guys enjoy reading!  
> **REMEMBER**  
> This is written in roleplay format where me and my partner reply back and forth between intervals (me as Veigar, them as Garen) each inserted line indicates the changing of character perspective/writer switch.

Runeterra. A world where magic and beings with unimaginable power live among its forests and city-states. The recent history of this vast land was filled with disaster; Runeterra’s own tribes would war with one another to settle their many disputes. Death was rampant, and conflict was seemingly never-ending. These magically-enhanced armies would use spells and ancient runes to wreak havoc on their enemies. Valoran, the great continent on Runeterra, was home to the leaders of Valornan’s political forces- also known as Summoners. With such an abundance of raw magical power at their disposal, their power grew as the environment paid for their greed.

Only in the last two hundred years, the dangers of unchecked magical warfare exposed the fragility of the great Runeterra, and marked the hazards it could bring to anyone residing within Valoran. Two destructive Rune Wars altered the geophysical landscape of Valoran, even its own magical energy could not restore it. Violent earthquakes, horrific magically-fuelled storms made life on Valoran near extinct. The horror of warfare was clear, and the Summoners looked to other means of settling their quarrels…

This was when the League of Legends was formed. Housed in the Institute of War, the League gave the Summoners what they sought; a systematic way of ending arguments in battles- but /they/ would not be the ones fighting. Citizens from all throughout Valoran flocked to the League to show their skill, fight for their own city-states, or even become seduced by the thought of bloodshed within the Fields of Justice.

Here, no matter the species, alignment, or creed, one could fight and gain glory within its walls as Champions, the name those fighting were given, could finally meet others as powerful as them. Monsters from the depths of the void, tactical ninjas from Ionia, the noble swordsmen from Demacia, mutated revenge-seekers from Zaun, ruthless assassins from Noxius, technologically advanced Piltover warriors, and even gunsmen yordles from Bandle City all were represented within the League.

While the fighting remained within its walls, what happened outside these blood stained fields was up to the Champions themselves… **The world of Runeterra was cold for many, marked with wars and rampant rivalries. It was a time of training and glory, not one of peace and love…**


	2. The Meeting

The very might of Demacia, the hero of the people's hearts, Garen, roamed the countryside of his homeland, guarding it with his army for weeks against the Noxian front, their attacks more recent on the poorer townsfolk and hardy Demacians that lived outside the wall of the city-state.

His sword was ready, it's broad curved length constantly drawn and shining in the summer sun as he charged into battle headfirst, unafraid as his bulk and skill crushed the weaker minions before him. He was the brave leader of the military, a shining example for all warriors. Garen was perfect in his execution, his pride rightful as his valor and loyalty for his land was like no other. He crushed the surprised Noxian armies, to him these creatures were scum, his own superiority in his morally good alignment, his sense of justice for his people trumping all.

But what Garen did lack, despite all the blood he drew and all the lives he saved, was a social life, or truly, a life outside of war. Even his fighting in the league was violent and ruthless, many champions having fallen to his sword. Garen lived a life of killing, of constant battle, but the young man had other hopes and dreams, he was more than his armor and weaponry.

Today, amidst a forest once used for it's precious lumber, he awaited with his armed forces, having found a secret Noxian camp within. The Demanicans had called off all travelers from that part of the land, the trails that spidered the forest presumed empty as the two city-states prepared for war once more. As the sun rose in the sky, Garen gave a signal and, running in the front line as usual, he striked at a Noxian tent, crushing those sleeping unsuspectingly inside. His men did likewise, destroying the other tents, their blue and purple banners falling. However amongst the shreds were not bodies but wooden figures and silence- it had been a trap! Suddenly strange runes started to glow amid the warriors, noxious gas clouding and choking everyone as it smoked away from the rocks, its green toxic glow the evidence of strong magic. Garen held his throat, the poisons bubbling in his lungs as he crawled from the wreck. Some of his other warriors were not so lucky, but he did escape, only to find the whole of the Noxus army awaiting. They didn't give him a moment to catch his breath before charging forward. Desperately the two fought, the clashing and banging of metal and flesh echoing for miles among the pine. But Garen would not let this be his end: no an embarrassing trick was not to be his downfall, he would not perish and starve the Crownguard name!

* * *

Veigar scanned the perimeter of the forest with a dismissive glance. Crunching over the decaying trees, the yordle overstepped the shredded foliage that lay like a corpse on its forest’s ground. It didn’t take a Piltover engineer to figure out that troops were nearby, whether they be Demacian or Noxius was none of Veigar’s concern. Neither would be too happy to see him, and he wouldn’t be jumping up and down in excitement to see them either... ‘I must be nearing the Marshes of Kaladoun…I’m not letting these fools detract me from my goals,’ he thought with a hint of malice. No map was necessary in the hands of the well-traveled yordle. Veigar had no home to call his own, so the whole of Valoran had to become it. Luckily, Veigar was a loner. He only traveled with his staff in hand and a destination in mind. He dismissed the idea that yordles needed companions to survive. He was his only friend.

From afar the first thing a wanderer would notice if they happened upon Veigar would be the mystic ebbs which coursed from his small frame. Next would be his large brimmed wizard’s hat and robe, equipped with barbed iron armor for defense. His weapon of choice, an arcane staff, was topped with a massive gemstone; its size so great as to contain the cosmic energies Veigar used in battle. Any smaller and it would shatter under the advanced spells Veigar called upon. His dark ebony pelt further illuminated his yellow eyes, catlike and fierce surrounded by such empty blackness. It was clear he was a user of black magic, his dark navy robes and shrouded face was symbol of a harbinger of this now lost art. Black magic was banned throughout Valoran. Veigar made himself an exception to this rule.

His current journey would eventually lead him to Northern Valoran just at the head of the Serpentine River. This is where a tribe of traditional healers were situated. Word had traveled through Runeterra that they were creating a scroll which would contain enough curative powers to regenerate the limbs of even an amputee! Veigar made it his goal to get to them first. He would see to it. At that thought, Veigar smiled wickedly before ducking beneath a shockingly giant leaf, one of the many native bushes in Valoran’s forests with monstrous proportions. Not only was the wildlife mysterious, if one wasn’t careful, one misstep could cause the unknowledgeable vagrant into slippery quickmud, pits which mimicked the very ground one might step on. The only difference was this would envelop an entire being alive within minutes. Many a death were caused from these traps. If that wasn’t enough, the snakes and magic-infused creatures which roamed about were always hungry for anything they could sink their jaws in. A more idiotic Wildebeest had decided that yordle would be the main course on their menu when they happened upon the small blue cloaked mage. Unfortunately for them, they could not detect the immense presence of magic energies which constantly flowed off of Veigar like water. That led to their quick demise- A single blast from Veigar’s staff left their innards spilling into the dirt in globs of red. Veigar ate well that night.

As Veigar neared a small clearing in the pine tree forest (perhaps some travelers had made camp?), his ears perked to the sound of swords clashing. The sound sent him on the alert, and he quickly ducked behind a moss concealed tree to hide his location. ‘Dammit…’, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no enemies were nearing behind.

‘If I just _happened_ upon some sort of battle, then I have the worst fucking luck in all of Valoran…’

It wasn’t a moment later when Veigar caught glimpse of a familiar caped warrior in the distance. The hulking figure was fighting off two…maybe three dark armored soldiers, but he was the one who stood out among them- his dazzling silvers and blues of his armor shone as his yells echoed almost as loudly as his sword when it cut into his enemies.

‘Tsk…just my luck.’ Veigar inwardly groaned. ‘Demacians and Noxians…’

* * *

Garen was pinned against a tree as he held his sword level, beads of sweat flying from his face as he dodged not one, but two arrows while blocking a Noxian warrior. He wasn't feeling, only thinking instinctively, his mind blank as his arm cranked like a robot. In the next second, three warriors lay dead as his feet, their blood only starting to pool before he moved onto the next. His squadron had been halved by the toxic gas before, and even now Noxus spellcasters attempted to reactivate the trap, but the sneaky quick footed Noxians could not evade the Demacians for long. Soon the two were equalized, the only escape now seemed to be surrender.

In Demacia there are some hard and fast rules- they are a stubborn race of people, as just as they are righteous. Garen would never run, rather to be honored in death than to live another day. What was the worth of escaping with allowing these Noxians an advantage? When everything he held dear, his job, his home, was at risk unless he fought to the very end?

Finally there was a break in the battle, the Noxians seemed to have been pushed back, their healers now all but killed and their spellcasters bleeding under Garen's bloodied heel. The once lush green ferns that delicately peppered the forest now held fronds curled with blood. The few warriors left escaped to the trees, their swift movements and iron claws allowing them to ascend and hide in waiting. The men rallied but Garen called for silence, it was not yet known of who had won. But amidst the trees, the trained battlesman noticed what seemed to be another enemy ducking behind the tree. With a sudden palpitation in his heart he realized, there must have been more Noxus spells! "Men! To the North!" He called, charging toward the lone figure. If the Noxians were preparing another trap he would never allow it!

* * *

Veigar was keeping his distance from the battle, still hidden behind the shroud of trees North to the battle’s positioning. Veigar could hear his own thoughts screaming as he struggled to find a passable route in which he could evade confrontations with soldiers- there was a time and place for fighting-and as a Veigar gripped his staff, feeling arcane magic flowing through his forearm, he knew he might not be able to find a peaceful route despite his efforts… A mere five-hundred yards away the attackers were still in the midst of sparring and it was clear to Veigar that neither forces would ease up until blood had been spilled.

The silver armored soldier was clearly the most expertise at swordsmanship. One swing of his massive blade left clean slices which Veigar could recognize as being strategically aimed. ‘He hits their vitals, the liver, neck, and lower belly…’ the yordle noted, noticing what took the Demacian leader one single strike took his minions 3 to 4 slashes. The dark warriors seemed to be retreating; many of their front line had been hacked away at by the Demacian fleet, leaving them without a front line strategy. Veigar could not help but chuckle at their cowardice as the Noxians ran like dogs with their tails hidden between their legs. “Pathetic…” he muttered, deciding then was the best opening he had for diverting around the seemingly distracted 50 or so armed soldiers. It was then, as Veigar momentarily began to move through the forest, that he was caught among the greenery. Veigar’s keen hearing zoned in on the leader of the quadrants next command: To run towards the Northern outskirts of the forest. Exactly where he was hidden.

“Fuck…” Veigar had no time to think as the five-hundred yards of distance which had separated him from the fray quickly became three-hundred. He had to act now. Despite the soldier’s massive size and armor they moved at a startling speed in perfect unison like armed robots. Veigar scanned his vicinity as he felt his magic bubbling at his own clawed fingertips; begging to be used- he needed more space than the cramped forest could give him if he were to attack. Shocking the army, the single yordle stepped out from its grasps into the field, a grin only barely visible from his yellow eyes illuminating his face like a jack-o-lantern. He was not fazed by being clearly outnumbered, rather, it was more of a setback to the trained warlock. With eyes speeding to make out the armies weaponry and positioning (‘they had no long-ranged attackers with them nor magic users- tch…typical of an old-fashioned Demacian troop’) Veigar waited until the soldiers were in range. He could see the whites of their eyes, manic as they charged towards him. Just then, a pulse of magic rippled in waves off of Veigar, the power was deliciously palpable in the air, and with a swing of his staff in the direction of the troop, pillars of obsidian runes crashed up through the ground, the blackened runes were pointed at their tip, with four large structures creating a rift in space within its confines. The entire front line had run right into his magic snare, and with another flick of his hand a torrent of dark matter, purple and brilliant from the sky like a meteor shot down into the soldiers caught within his stun.  Veigar laughed, deciding to escape back into the forest with the several members army groaning in his wake. ‘That’ll give me enough time to lose their tracking,’ he snickered inwardly.

* * *

Hell seemed to be raining down on the army as literal claws rose from the mulchy earth, stunning, capturing, and skewering many of the soldiers charging forward. Garen was just barely able to leap out of the way, having just a split second to recognize the dazzlingly glowing orbs that watched him from the dark, such eyes that could only belong to the fellow league champion: Veigar. Garen knew little of the yordle other than he was thought insane and wanted in several city-states., however his brief fighting with him within the league had prepared him to dodge his more common attacks. He had seen such a display of dark magic destroy entire armies before, and he knew begrudgingly that his Demacian teammates would not fare for long against such a powerful foe.

So with a bellow the hulk charged forward, his sword before him like a lance. He would be the one to fight this tiny demon and capture him, to make him suffer the consequences of his evil deeds. His path was not linear as he lead his men around any continued attacks, they would need his guidance, especially now. Like blind rats in a maze, they had to trust him. "Men! This is Veigar, evil warlock, and mastermind of many crimes against our fair Demacia, and the entire world... See to it that he is captured under the Crownguard court! Do not let him escape!"  His message free, he swung forward, his aim just for the small furry arm of the yordle, his eyes watchful of the menacing staff, the powers that seemed to radiate from it disgustingly vibrant in his stomach. "Avoid his magic! Strike only when you have an opening!"

* * *

20 or so Demacian soldiers were still hot on the pursuit as Veigar dashed through the ever deepening jungle. He was not the most fit runner, but he enhanced his own movement with magic, enabling the yordle to hover over obstacles, and dash undetected under shrubbery. It was a time when his own size was a virtue he could not deny was in his favor. Being of a smaller size made him a harder target for the brainless soldiers to hit.

Veigar could feel the men gaining on him, and in his rapid dash he continued to hurl down balls of dark matter which crashed to the earth. One particularly powerful orb sent 3 soldiers crashing in a clump of metal and armor, and the collision sent murky energies flicking across the forest floor. This set off a reaction which set one of the great trees ablaze! Orange flames were lit in a path, blocking off several more of the soldiers as screams were heard throughout the land as their skin bubbled from the burning embers.

Veigar was beginning to celebrate his victorious escape when he felt a powerful hit to his shoulder from the blunt end of a blade. It was so sudden it sent the yordle flying into a nearby stump, his breath nearly caught out of his own lungs. “Wha…” Veigar barely was able to mutter when the same sword was sent crashing down, Veigar barely blocking it with his own staff. Veigar rolled away, the large excalibur sending clumps of bark into the mulch below. Catching his own breath and feeling the ache of his shoulder subside, Veigar looked up to lock eyes with his pursuer.

“Well…if it isn’t Garen. I’m surprised you’re chasing me under you own free will…or did your precious prince send his dog to do some scouting?”

* * *

Garen was breathing hard, he had already been battling for a good two or three hours, but that was nothing in comparison to some of the battles he'd had lead before. Entire weeks had been committed to a single battle, nights left awake, on alert for the purple flaming arrows of their enemies. However now he could feel the energy-sapping magic of his foe, Veigar was not like any warrior he'd ever face on the common field. No this was a champion, a fighter for and only for other champions. It would be up to him to win this battle or suffer the terrible consequences of dying outside the league. Gritting his teeth he flashed a confident laugh, planting his sword into the ground with a loud crack as it splintered tree roots. "Glad to see you recognize me" he sneered, "I didn't know you could even speak outside your spells! But to venture onto Demacia's proud lands- then you must be mad!" He gripped his sword hilt, "Fight me demon! You will taste the justice of my blade!" Ripping his sword from the earth, a rift of courage flowing through him, he spun forward his sword becoming a tornado.

* * *

Veigar felt annoyance grow hot within his chest…’How dare this Demacian filth deny his path.’ He began charging his next spell, the gem at the peak of his staff glowing a brilliant yellow, the same hue as the yordle’s eyes. Veigar was not going to let up that easily, and when the mage noticed the beads of sweat dripping down the military soldiers brow he knew the fight would tip in his favor. Veigar got into a defensive stance with his staff gripped firmly in front of him, an automatic response to the stance his foe entered. Garen was notorious for his blade-play, spinning his weapon like it was made of paper Mache, and Veigar sharply inhaled as the move which was equally admired as it was feared swirled towards him with a whipping sound, the blades tip sharp enough to cut through chainmail. Veigar reacted quickly, dashing under the sword’s range of execution- and with a grin the yordle mere inches from Garen, used his free hand with a recently charged purple orb of electric dark matter, threw it directly into the Demacian’s chest. With the Might of Demacia hunched back momentarily, Veigar jabbed his staff up towards Garen’s chin- the ridged staff made a mix of steels which could leave a mighty bruise on human skin. Garen’s hand shot out suddenly and gripped the staff, enduring the blow to the jaw, and with strength that took years to build up, he lifted the small yordle from his feet, smashing his foot into Veigar’s stomach. Veigar made a high-pitched cough, small flecks of blood spurting from his mouth as he fell to the ground, his staff in the hands of Garen who tossed it to the side.

“You fucker…” Veigar growled, wiping his mouth, his metal claw becoming streaked with blood.

* * *

Garen's eyes squinted, the blues as intense as the bubbling magic around the small black yordle, the twilight shades of energy taking on a warping quality. It was terrifying, even the trained and experienced warrior knew he should use caution dealing with someone such as this. He was aware of Veigar's void- calling abilities, and knew that when pushed into a corner this demon would be able to squeeze out, leaving a bloody trail.

His teeth gritted, feeling indignant at the foul name-calling of his morally void foe. "You will finally face what you deserve!"  He screamed, unsympathetic as he stabbed his sword down, straight for Veigar's chest. But his sword did not meet flesh, instead it flew through air, a sudden blackhole covering the yordle! Garen rolled out of the way as another hole opened in the space behind him, his sword piercing where he had just been a second ago! Veigar was laughing darkly, wiping dust off his purple tunic as he grabbed his staff again. Garen was beside himself, he'd never seen any magic user control the very space so completely, and in this he steadied himself, taking a defensive stance. "Men- for Demacia!" quickly the bits of the army that was left pulled together into formation, surrounding the mage like a wall.

* * *

Like a hellish torrent, the flames from Veigar’s previous attacks were still strong and blistering down the Northern perimeter of the forest, making the summer day pale in comparison to their scorching embers. Veigar looked around at the 8 men who surrounded him. Each one looked the same to Veigar- their faces consumed with hate. This was the hate Veigar had been born into, had grown from like a small child to milk. It was an emotion he had become well acquainted with…

Veigar needed to call upon one of his most powerful spells, one that he had spent months mastering. The delicate art of black magic forced one to learn balance; or else something so powerful could engulf you in its greedy magical snare and kill you just the same. Black magic was banned with good reason, this ancient skill was equally powerful as it was _consuming_. Many called it the magic of demons, as those who used it were known to become corrupt, shadows of what they once were- selling their morality in lieu of power… Veigar sighed, his neck rolling back with a slight crack as his claws clenched, the raw magic sending an addictive surge through the yordle. It was time for the mother of all arcanic incantations. The Primordial Burst.

Time seemed to have slowed, at Garen’s command the men charged towards Veigar, their swords swinging and battle cries singing through the sweltering sky. But Veigar was focused, internalizing within himself as he felt his own mana supply dwindling, the spell sapping its host of his physical strength, all the while a small bubble of fantastic blue and purple swirls appeared above the yordle, growing massively in size as Veigar gripped onto the staff- the object threatened to fly off into his own creation. The troops halted for a moment and looked to their leader, fear blossoming in their eyes as the naked eye saw universes and stars within the growing cataclysm Veigar was creating at his fingertips. ‘I am a God…!!’ a dark voice screamed to him-Veigar felt the peak of his emotions grow to a close, his chest swelling with pulsing energies and adrenaline. The only hint of his manic state was a slow toothy grin which shown on his face as his spell cast an eerie glow on the yordle’s rounded face.

“Where is your strength now?! Cowards! I want to see you die at my hands!” Veigar cackled, the unstable orb shook with chaotic vibrations. It’s massive size was a sight to be gazed upon- it looked like a second corrupted sun lingering in the air.

* * *

Despite years of experience, Garen was not yet immune to the cry of his men when the life of their bodies was stolen from them in war. He saw their faces at night, the millions he had lead to victory, and the millions left behind in the afterlife, their corpses buried with Demacian respect but Garen's own guilt survived. So even now, as the sun seemed to have warped to them, Garen called desperately for his army to fall back, he knew their fate. But it was too late, the brave men stood their guard. The last thing Garen saw after a blinding burning light was Veigar's wicked grin. His eyes opened slowly, blood oozing down and blinding him as he dulling clutched his sword, his arms shaking. He could smell the crisp burning of bodies as below him he recognized a disembodied head, the warrior's helmet still strapped to cover their face. "NO!" He howled, his throat burning! Amidst the pale light and mist he saw body after dead body: he had failed his army, they were gone.

No trees remained to block his view of the sitting yordle, left over and used up from his most powerful spell. Garen realized that is was down to this moment, it was just the two of them, if he didn't strike now his comrade's death in battle would be in vain! Savagely he roared, getting to his feet as he dashed forward. Some of his own armor fell off, damaged by the blast, but he didn't care- his sword was still sharp and all he cared for now was capturing the beast. It took all his strength not to slay Veigar, for the mage was severely weakened now, his small mouth open and gasping for air, tickles of blood seeming to ooze from his moon-like eyes. But by Demacian law, Garen was held to higher standards than the rats he fought, he would not give in to murder, instead he would take this criminal in for court, where he would be treated fairly and harshly for his evil (this, Garen knew, was a death sentence). But first was capturing the elusive scrap, for Garen was on his last leg, his health halved post-attack.

"You filthy... dark... savage! The blood of my men are on your disgusting claws!" Garen spat, his eyes points of blue "Say goodbye to your freedom! I will never let you see the light again..." With that he charged forward, his thick hand grabbing Veigar's cuff, overpowering him and crushing him into the ground. The yordle was so light as he thrashed him about, and, still dazed from the energy taken from him, Veigar was left limp, his mouth could only hiss and growl as Garen punched him again, knocking the wind out of him! Literally carrying him, Garen had his hands around his neck, wrestling him down and avoiding kicking metal boots or Veigar's oversized clawed hand. Back at camp the Demacians had caged caravans, used to bring Noxian warriors back as prisoners of war.  Never before had such a cage seen a mage, but Garen knew that they were strong vessels, built with runes for such an occasion.

Veigar squirmed, unable to perform magic he did everything to get away from Garen, even biting his hand which led to an aggressive slap across  the face. "You little monster!" Garen growled. Normally dealing with something so small would make him scoff, the yordle's attempts laughable, but given this mortal day, Garen could barely grimace. He threw the demon into the cage, and taking the reins of one of the many horses waiting, made his way for Demacia.

* * *

Veigar watched as his creation exploded into blinding ripples of blue, yellow, and white as it collided down to earth and into the armed men. Their screams were like music to Veigar, and as they dropped to the ground; their skin and flesh evaporating from the immense temperature of the spell, Veigar felt oddly at peace with himself- as he always did after releasing so much pent up frustration and untapped power. The after effect was euphoric, but painful- the yordle dropped to the ground in a heap of limbs, exhausted but pleased with his show of strength- his vision became blurry and he felt incredibly lightheaded, as if his very life force was dwindling from his overuse of dark abilities. In his half-conscious state the warlock could do little to fend against his kidnapper, Garen, and was forced to thrash like a possessed doll as he was pulled by the throat towards his jailing.

Veigar’s consciousness slowly regained itself and the first thought that came to his mind was his staff! ‘Where was it?!’ he frantically tried to claw at Garen’s forearm as the swordsman bounded through the jungle, not caring if he rammed Veigar into a nearby tree as he traversed the landscape. Veigar twisted his head, his neck close to broken from Garen’s handling of him, and saw the familiar gem of his staff pointing towards the ground, as Garen held it like it was trash. Veigar needed to think- and quick! He could not help but hiss a deep growl from the back of his throat as he was manhandled by this Demacian puppet. Feeling him grab him, bringing him closer and closer to his imprisonment, his freedom taken so quickly- it enraged the yordle. And terrified him.

Garen threw Veigar into the caravan and slammed the door, barring the metal frame with seals that not even the strongest mage could break through. And in Veigar’s condition, it wasn’t even an option. The caravan became dark, nearly pitch black if not for the small slivers of light from the bars which covered a small peephole at the caravan’s back entrance. Veigar slammed his fist against the wall, his dizziness coming back with a vengeance. The yordle could barely resist, every bump and turn made him crash into the side walls, leaving him to slide down its barriers pathetically.

“I can’t go back…I can’t…go back….” Veigar chanted to himself, gripping onto his hat and pulling at the fur at his cheeks. His breathing heightened. The caravan felt constricting, as if oxygen could not get to the yordle and into his lungs at a quick enough pace! He’d be damned if he would be locked up and killed. It wasn’t…going…to happen. **Panic was the main emotion still strong in the yordle's heart as Veigar was carted to the Demacian courts for his upcoming trial…**


	3. Prison Walls

**-3 Days Pass-**

Grey. Everything around him was the color grey. The walls, the cell bed, lined with a thin sheet to offer minimal comfort, the bars which restrained him. The only thing that wasn’t grey was the murky blue installed seal barrier several Demacian mages had come to summon at Veigar’s cell. It was protocol the city-state had never needed to implement until they had jailed the small warlock. To ensure he would stay confined, they had decided Garen, his captor, would be best suited to watch over him to keep a watchful eye on the damned little imp. Garen accepted graciously, but deep inside, the last thing he wanted was more time with the wretched demon.

Veigar was sitting at his bed, staring blankly at the adjacent wall. He had wraps covering areas of his body, but not his face- he would not allow the nurses to see his face without his hat atop his head. So now, caked blood was dried and matted on the fur on Veigar’s face, leaving the stale smell of body fluid infect the air. He barely noticed the pain of his body from the fight, nor did he focus on his desire to inflict revenge upon Garen Crownguard, instead his thoughts were rushing like mad. Veigar knew he wouldn’t be there long. The courts had decided upon the death penalty until further notice- the judge was not swayed by Veigar’s growling face and dead-pan sneer. (The yordle did not even try to look pleasing, instead his famous scowl was present throughout the hearing.) And so it was decided within two weeks’ time, his end would be met by public execution. Word was spreading all over Valoran of a yordle execution- never before had it been done in Demacian territory- the Demacian’s being closely bonded with the city-state of Bandle City. But most knew of Veigar, and no one wanted his name associated with their people.

* * *

It had been three days since the court decided that the tiniest wretch, Veigar the warlock himself, was to be sentenced to death on account of murder, trespassing, and a host of other crimes placed upon him like play blocks, all towered up to reveal the only foreseeable outcome: death. Garen was there the entire time, a witness to the death of his men he told in lascivious detail the extent of his battle and how the little demon slaughtered them all! The war leader was seen once again as a hero, the jury obviously falling in his favor, but it was not the pride or praise he sought, but a bringing to justice, for this tyrant to never hurt another innocent again!

Unfortunately, that also meant babysitting the beast until the gallows were ready for such a small morsel of meat. The court was also in contact with the League, the Summoners obvious not happy to be losing one of their most prized mages, but Garen couldn't care less about their opinion despite being a champion himself: to him, murder was murder, evil was evil, and while he was merciful, there was no escape from justice.

Either way the weeks until then loomed over him. The first day had been silent, a rank stench of blood in the air as Veigar sat and stared, not moving and not talking. Garen did not mind this for he didn't want anything to do with him other than guard. The second day Garen finally spoke, lecturing Veigar on cleaning his face and letting the nurses at least heal him while he was alive. "Do you want to rot in that cell? Live with pride until the end!"  Truthfully he simply was adverse to the scent of the crusty bloody fur. This Veigar noticed and, out of spite, left his face dirty. Finally it was the third day. This time Garen actually looked inside the cell. He had been avoiding looking at the mutt for as long as possible, but then, knowing the creature couldn't do much to escape, he took the liberty of staring out of curiosity. Veigar seemed to be ignoring him, but even with his mouth shut and silent the warrior could see the roving of his eyes. Garen had a sudden need to rip that hat off and see the yordle's actual face... He wondered why it was hidden, maybe he was just insanely ugly. This Garen liked to believe.

"Prisoner" He called, unafraid of bothering Veigar's solitude "A mask cannot hide one's evil acts... so why do you shade your face? Are you ashamed of your villainy?" He smiled, a laugh to his deep voice. "No matter how shamed you are, your hideous acts speak for you- so remove your hat, show me the monster you truly are."

* * *

He was becoming more and more irritating as the days grew on.

The time spent in Veigar’s hellhole of a cell seemed to be never ending. And with the “Spintop warrior of Justice” guarding his every movement, scoffing and making show of watching him like some sort of zoo creature, well it made the experience just that much more painful for Veigar. To be frank, Veigar found some amusement in irritating the self-rightous Garen with silence, not bothering to answer him when he droned on (clearly the half-wit got some sort of sick pleasure out of the sound of his own voice!) and even staying filthy to further show his lack of attention- but the amusement was always short-lived. Because here he was…. ranting again. Somehow his voice was a special kind of annoying… ‘Did he have some sort of maddening spell ability,’ Veigar wondered, glancing over to see the Demacian with his hands at his hips proudly, asking the yordle some sort of irrelevant question, ‘because he could drive even the most sane man insane…’

Veigar heard the swordsman’s question- and he sneered- At least he wasn’t the only one _clearly_ bored out of their skulls being stuck in that Demacian Holding Facility. Veigar turned his head slowly to face the hulking man, and his voice eluded a breeziness of speech that seemed to hint he hadn’t noticed Garen there the entire span of the three days.

“Hm…did you say something?” He said coyfully. Knocking down this one’s ego was fun, Veigar noted.

* * *

Garen made a sound of pure indignation, a scoff as his face contorted into an irritated look of disgust. "You must be kidding me, are you daft? Or does that oversized tent-of-a-hat block your hearing AND thinking??" Garen crossing his arms, composing himself. It was hard not to blow up after sitting in that cell room for such long hours. He was use to the constant threat of attack, to the pursuit of the battlefield... sitting here felt useless, and he often filled his time with light pacing or standing firm as a statue, his pride as a guard keeping him sightly.

"I asked, little demon, for you to remove your hat and show me your true face, with pride! Show me who it was I battled all those days ago! Show yourself with valor, and then maybe I could forgive you for your cowardice..."

* * *

Veigar cackled, the high pitched sounded reverberated off the walls and shocked Garen as it broke through the silence that had been between them for so long.

“You truly are a funny one, Demacian lapdog. You seem to forget it was nearly 50 to one. If anyone is truly a coward it is you.” Veigar laughed once more for effect, crossing his arms in defiance. Who did this idiot think he was, asking to see his face? He didn’t have the right to see even his paw, let alone view his identity. He could screw himself with his sword for all he cared. In fact, he’d like that- at least it’d be something to entertain him besides the wall.

The shrill laughter was of an ungodly quality to the hardened warrior. Garen grimaced, his teeth visible as he glared at the furry speck before him. This little punk was more annoying than the usual scum left to fester in their cages. In fact he almost preferred the usual whimpering Noxians to this rude creature!

* * *

"Have you no tact, yordle? Or should I even call you that- so twisted by the dark arts, could I even consider you an animal of sentience?" He growled at the mention of his men, the memory of their death still hot in his veins "How dare you speak of my army, you have no right to even mention their sacrifice! It was your murderous hands that killed them, and it will be your actions, and only them , that will follow you to death! You have no one but your own dark soul to blame."

* * *

Veigar felt cruelty twisting in his gut at the clear weakness the soldier had for his fallen men. 'Allowing such an easy opening for his own torment, how naïve..," Veigar thought ruefully. The dark yordle stepped from his bed, the ground a bit of a jump for the pint-sized mage. Veigar stepped confidently towards the cell bars, the first steps he had made since his capture.

"And does that make you angry, Demacian?" Veigar taunted, his words like venom cutting through Garen. They slid from his tongue like a mother cooing a child, light and infuriatingly mocking, "That I killed not 10...not 20...no... 50 of your precious men. Running like ants at _your_ command- into their own demise." Veigar leaned as close as he could to the bars, gripping one with a sliver claw. Garen was unreadable, listening with a silence that was more startling than rage.

"I'd do it again. Killing them was as easy as waking up in the morning." Veigar continued to push, his malice growing as his sharpened teeth shone when he spoke. His eyes were glowing madly as he began to laugh.

"How does it make you feel that you couldn't save them?

* * *

"Eugh!" Garen's arm hit into the metal bars, just above where Veigar was taunting him as he took a breath, his heart beating so quickly and furiously at the mage's words. He had turned away, his face in shadow as Veigar went on and on, but finally he couldn't take it. They flashed in his head, the faces of those dead men... if the warlock was right about one thing it was that Garen lead them to demise. He had punched the bars, and unknowingly bent them slightly, a show of his physical strength given the density of the steel. But he was not watching Veigar or gauging his reaction, instead he was looking away, his eyes blankly staring forward.

"Quiet, yordle..." He practically hissed before walking forward and leaving him alone once more in silence. It was a moment before he muttered "Prisoner... You will pay your dues... and /no one/ is going to save you. I have a country, a home, a duty to my people... what do you have? Nothing, but your own delusions"

* * *

Veigar barely jumped at the Demacian’s attack- he had the safety of the bars between him, plus, he knew the swordsman didn’t have the gall to truly attack him. It was pathetic and quite sad. He had nothing to lose but yet, something held him back. Veigar found himself growing annoyed that he failed to grab more of a hold on Garen’s anger. He was always so restrained, so wound up. It made Veigar itch with discomfort.

Veigar let the words roll off him. They would have hurt him had he been younger, less hardened. But now they simply didn’t faze the twisted yordle. He knew what he had: his power, his resolve to dominate those around him. He didn’t need more.

“I have everything I’ll ever desire…” he said, leaving the bars and returning to his bed. His voice lowered, no longer speaking to Garen, more of a reassurance to himself, “I have something not even _they_ can take from me…”

* * *

Garen simply stared forward. He would have died for his men that day, he would have sacrificed anything for his country... so he simply couldn't understand what the pure selfishness Veigar radiated. What was it that Veigar had other than an empty room and a bit of cloth to his name? Was this a lie to help him sleep at night? Something that both amused and annoyed Garen, because if the demon was acting all out of confusion, out of disparity, then maybe he could have ended up better. He was always a hopeful thinking, an optimistic in a way, and the ever sympathetic bone in him that made him so empathetic to the needs of the people implored him to do what he could for those in disadvantaged situations. The thought of helping Veigar find the 'good' in him was sickening but also gave him a feeling of immense pride. His parents would surely be pleased to hear he recreated a once villain into a proper citizen who could use their powers for healing and peace keeping rather than killing. But this was a winding fantasy.

The following week Garen and Veigar did little more than stare at each other. The court extended the time till the yordle's death sentence as representatives from Bandle City were making their way to authenticate the sentence. (not that they were going to bail out the yordle they abandoned, really they just wanted to watch and make sure the dark warlock was put down). But what this did was extend Veigar and Garen's alone time, much to their dislike.

Garen had taken up exercising outside the cell. Sitting for hours was bad for posture and running ruts in the floor by pacing was just another way to waste time. At least if he kept his body moving he could ignore the painfully slow passage of time until finally the night shift kicked in and he'd be allowed to leave. Whilst doing push-ups he looked up to see Veigar's glowing orbs watching him, coldly. The warrior didn't stop, if anything he glared into those eyes and moved onto one arm, and then one finger, until he was literally holding himself up in the air. Why he was pushing himself he didn't know, he certainly wasn't putting on a show for the beast, but it did give him a certain satisfaction to show off his strength. To show he was more than talk and glory, that he branded his sword for a reason.

* * *

Veigar’s time, while to a curious bystander, or Demacian guard, would appear to be wasted staring at this adjacent prison wall, the yordle was busy developing his plans of escape, slowly and methodically. It had truly started as he was being shipped to the Holding Facility while chained within the caravan. Veigar reassured himself: If I could escape once from confinement, I can do it again. The law system of Valoran was faulty, and any common thief to the most expertise serial killer on its land knew of the loopholes. Veigar was confident that even with his escape he could distance himself to the Northern provinces, areas where Demacian outlaws had no meaning, then he’d be protected from his capture. The law system was quite faulty, especially regulations on Champions from the League. Since many were wanted for murder, Veigar was certain he could tip the story into one of self-defense, because really, he was just traveling when he was _assaulted_ by Garen and his men… As long as he was not being ruled by a Demacian court, he had a chance of the entire situation “disappearing” like so many other murders gone unnoticed.

Veigar simply needed to wait until the veil of night. That was when the burly general left his post and was replaced with an enlisted soldier to keep the night watch. During his time of focus Veigar had been wracking his brain of the countless spells he had learned, trying to find a loophole in the seal he had been magically restrained by. If he could find an attack with ancient roots, entirely unknown by sorcerers, then he would use it, and by daybreak he’d be gone… The guards were not the smartest bunch, and Veigar hoped he could tip this little game in his own favor…

It was still daytime, however, and Garen was filling his time exercising as Veigar watched, dead-pan but curious. He felt…a queer feeling rise in his stomach, as if he was watching a circus act of some kind.

‘What is this imbecile doing?’ Veigar wondered, squinting in bare amusement.

Veigar crossed his arms, making sure his body language read, “I am not impressed.” If Garen thought this… display was something to be reveled in, then he was wasting his time.

The small yordle noticed the swordsman’s arm muscles bulging as he lifted himself from the stony ground with one finger. Looking down at his own arms, quite thin and underdeveloped thanks to the little strain magic use has on the development of brawn, he grimaced slightly. Veigar turned away, a scowl plastered on his face.

“Can’t you do that somewhere else?! You complain of the smell of my blood, yet here you are- contaminating the room with the stench of your sweat!”

* * *

Garen ignored the small rat as he continued to bob on his finger, switching his fingers occasionally to build them up one by one "1001- 1002" He sang loudly at  Veigar's dismissal, humoring himself as the yordle put on a grouchy face, something he made a habit of achieving at least twice a day. Garen felt that the long hours were starting to become a battle of sorts between the two, a painstaking test of patience as they bore on each other’s nerves a little bit. Just enough to chisel at their psych.

It was at least an hour later, after counting every bounce that Garen finally stopped to find the yordle turned away with his hands holding his hat down, trying to block out the noise of the war leader's voice. Garen gave a loud laugh "I'm surprised you haven't moved an inch yourself!" He chordled "How do you sit so still, you're like stagnant water... no wonder your limbs are thin as sprouting trees!"

* * *

Veigar let out a resounding, “HA,” before the yordle whipped his head back towards Garen with his arms still crossed tightly, “I spend my time memorizing and perfecting spells. Do you know what a scroll is Garen? Or a book? Maybe if you spent less time adding muscle to your head you’d have something going on in there.”

Just as Garen was opening his mouth to rebuke a loud bugle instrument, it’s honk triumphant and loud in the summer air as it rang through the open cell window (barred, of course.) It was a day of celebration for the crowning of King Jarvan III, his son and all the council would be there to watch as a grand parade traveled through the cobblestone streets. Outside, voices could be heard in the distance, just far enough so their conversation could not be picked up- but the hustle and bustle was electric. Veigar felt even more cramped within the cell- ‘This was a waste of precious time!!’ His mood worsened.

“What’s going on?” Veigar questioned with annoyance, leaving it up to Garen to fill in the blanks.

* * *

"Only one of the most celebrated days on our calendar," He said, crossing his own bulky arms "and I'm stuck in these walls with a caged rat" His voice was poisonous as he said it, obviously he wasn't glad that he was missing the day's festivities to watch Veigar. He could have gotten a guard to fill in of course, but that was beneath the warrior's honor- he would not force anyone else to make contact with Veigar if they didn’t need to.

"It is the day our fair and just King Jarvan the third was crowned as leader, and the nation as Demacia rose to the occasion and became a better state because of it..." there was emotion in his eyes as he looked off out the caged window, his thoughts lost to the sky "I was just a training soldier then... and when I saw that proud crown fall on his head, my own parents in tow as his guards, I knew my destiny was to protect it with all my heart... such dedication I would uphold, such HONOR I would attain!" He put his fist up "FOR DEMACIA!" 

* * *

Veigar’s could not believe what he was witnessing. For the first time the yordle fell silent.

‘Were…his eyes… watering?’

Veigar noticed a slight shimmery gleam in the Demacian’s eyes as he held his fist up in the air. He was staring off at something, though when Veigar turned to see what it was, he found nothing which could explain Garen’s strange behavior. He was the strangest creature. So odd that even his own hometown could cause him such pride- as if he lived through its success?

“You know, you were born on these lands. You owe /nothing/ more to them.”

Veigar’s nose scrunched as he realized what he had said. Why did he even feel inclined to offer anything to this moron? It would go in one ear and out the other. He was brainwashed.

* * *

Garen was frozen for a moment, his heart swelling as he listened to the grandiose celebration outside. It was true his eyes were watering, but he composed himself, his hand on his heart as he came back down to Earth. "There's not a more glorious ring that the sound of the people in the streets... this is what I fight for" He looked to the yordle, his jovious still visible for a second, crisp white teeth shining. But as Veigar intervened he scoffed, his hand waving.

"I would expect such a statement from one who /abandoned/ their home! No, I live for Demacia, and her shining halls live for me.... A home is one of the most important drives for living, it's my passion... you would know that if you had one"

However, after saying it, Garen regretted it, for the small yordle really didn't have a home, maybe he just didn’t understand what is was to feel needed by a land. Which was very curious really, Garen recognized Veigar's talents! Had the rat just chosen a simpler more refined path of courageousness, of light magic like his sister, maybe he'd be Bandle City's chosen hero!  

Thinking of his sister he realized that that night he was to dine with the Crownguards along with the king. It was a wonderful occasion, to be with his beloved family and best friend, the prince. However it also meant sitting with his ever strict and haunting parents. Garen loved his family dearly, he'd put himself on a stake for them, but his parents... they were of a more demanding crowd. He knew what they'd discuss... asking him if he'd found a wife to settle down with, so that he could continue their family name. It was true that he was getting up in years, almost to turn 28 many of the generals and guards had their own offspring to carry their honor already. He had no one, not yet. But what could he expect! As the head military leader he didn't have time for frivolous things. He was seen at parties and dinners but what was there to come out of that, if that was all there was to one's social endeavors?

Getting a headache over the whole deal he sighed "I owe my life to my home, to my family, they expect so much of me, they did everything to raise me right... The least I could do if be a decent human being"

* * *

Veigar’s blood went cold. His mind flashed with the betrayal of his so called birthplace, Bandle City. The scouts never bothering to look for those lost within the walls of Noxus. His torture within the cells never crossed their minds as they slept, guilt-free, at night. A younger more pure version of himself how would wait, despite the lashings the guards would give out of humor, grabbing the small prisoners and laughing with glee at how easily their thin bones broke. Despite it all Veigar’s heart was filled with lasting hope that each day would be the one he would be rescued. But they failed him. And all the love, the respect for his city-state he may have once had died. As he witnessed yordles, weaker willed ones, hanging themselves with the chains locked at their ankles- he cut off all ties with his home. People killed without thought for their allegiance, they followed blindly for a medal or badge, but what did Bandle City give him in return? They cursed his name! Denied him return after they had seen what he had become… Family and home were all ways of giving blind hope where it did not exist.

"You know nothing of me." Veigar growled.

The yordle’s eyes were slits as he gritted his jaw, “You’ll see! Your precious homeland doesn’t care for you, it sees you as nothing more than a soldier! As an obedient warrior for its own means… See if you fall out of line, see how much they would want to help you then…”

Veigar’s voice fell. He tired of this talk, and looking at Garen was making him ill. The Demacian had everything he needed to keep himself blinded from pain. He’d be relieved when it was his time to be dismissed for the night. Silence was better than idle chat…

* * *

Garen could almost laugh! Abandon him? Demacia itself was the very foundation of his strength! The city-state couldn't disappoint him if he tried, for he knew that whatever role his homeland had to play in the world it was with noble intention. Garen couldn't think of any better life, to play along and spread this hope and happiness, even if it meant being a soldier all his life... He was doing good, this he truly believed.

However he stopped himself when he saw what could have been pain in Veigar's eyes, something he definitely did not expect from the short warlock. Hatred and annoyance maybe, but nothing so sensitive. It seemed as if Veigar was talking to himself, speaking truths that once hurt him dearly. This at least Garen did understand, for it was no secret that Bandle City had cut ties from the mage, wanting to never be associated with him. The military leader always assumed it was because Veigar had traded his soul and any goodness he held for the sake of power, for the terrible taint of dark arcane magic. But now he questioned this, he wondered why the yordle had gone to these measures... had he just all along hated his hometown and had banded the energy to destroy it? Or was it for a different reason? The warrior was realizing that it was true... he didn't know this creature.

But he did know of his crimes, and that was enough for the strict noble hearted man "My heart is in the right place, just as Demacian code dictates... we fight for peace, against the evil that plague all of Valoran! How could such good intentions hurt me? No, yordle, it is when others resist and need to spread their hatred that we fight... I will never 'step out of line' because I want to better the world... Nevermind, you've already turned to the dark side, I don't even know why I'm explaining it."

A part of Garen wanted the mage to understand, he was always so hopeful, trying to see the good in others, but he knew it might be for naught, Veigar had gone too far and he might be unsalvageable.

* * *

Veigar had had enough of the Demacian propaganda Garen spewed like wildfire. His back was turned to the soldier, dismissive of even giving him the right to speak to him head-on. The yordle gazed outside at the tall trees which grew in the courtyard outside his cell. They were a bright green and whisked delicately as the wind blew a pleasant breeze in through the cell.

"It's Veigar." he felt the need to remind him.

Garen looked to Veigar's back. "Hm?"

"Veigar. It's what I'd like to be called."

**There was a long silence. The discussion ended there.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Finally! Some development! But it's still a long way until these two are able to talk normally and not glare at each other like idiots...))


	4. The Escape

"Where is he?" A tall elegantly dressed woman whispered to her husband. Several guards were situated at the doors of the lavish castle. Within its gates, the Crownguard  and the Lightshield family sat at couches. Small flukes of liquor were passed around as they talked. The dinner would begin soon, and the smell of savory meats was mouthwatering.

"He'll make his entrance soon, Garen would not disrespect the King with tardiness." his father, a large man donned in royal garb had Garen's famously broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard along with his graying hair. Scars grooved like thin rivers along his jaw, further showing his dedication to his city-state, having been a successful guard and soldier to Demacia. He had gained his right into its political ring, and was now highly respected, as was Garen's mother. Her quickness with a shiv was unmatched, and her lean arms showed strength despite the feminine dress she wore; long and gleaming with the blues and golds of their home.

Prince Jarvan IV laughed as he told his story. His father, the King, beamed as he looked to his son, "It is true! The Noxian's could hardly hold their own swords, not to mention their bowels, when they saw my troop running towards them!"

Lux laughed, sitting neatly besides her parents, knees together in her modest dress, a shawl covering her shoulders as her blonde hair was put up elegantly. Her mother hated how she allowed her locks down freely and wore a simple headband atop her head. She called it a "peasantry" look-and it took all of Luxxane's will not to itch the tightly bound braids at her roots the maids had arranged. Garen's sister tried to look interested in the King and his son's talk, but she continued to find herself looking back at the doors. Where was her brother!? She tried not to worry, but the last thing she wanted was for him to get in trouble...

Garen was speeding up his walk from his private quarters at the Military Branch to the king's festival, held by the literal throne in the lord's castle, one of the most guarded and regal pieces of architecture in the entire city. He gazed up at it's pearly walls, the golden and blue banners dotting every squire as the townspeople drank and sang in the streets. The color and sounds were overwhelming, bringing a smile to the warrior. When he saw such celebration he made a note to appreciate it, because given the darkness lurking in Valoran, such happiness was never safe.

He wove through the crowds, his hand quickly running through his hair as he tried desperately to not get dust on his formal armor. He had to be orderly in presentation- not just for the king but for his upholding parents. The truth was their opinion was almost more intimidating than the lighthearted king's. Garen knew he was a little late as well, but it was all because the next guard to replace him for the next shift came in drunk. He couldn't blame him, this was one of their most free and celebrated days, but the display of lack of respect for their station was shameful to the military leader. He had only finished a long lecture to the delinquent when he realized he was pressed for time! So hurrying along he finally was led to the grand dining hall.

His entrance was followed by a trumpet, signaling his arrival. He took off his golden helmet, revealing his crisp washed face to the king as was tradition. King Jarvan III replied with a grand smile, his hand waving for the warrior to sit down. Garen took his seat between the two he had the strongest relationships with, his sister Lux and the prince. It was obvious they were waiting for him as well as a seat was left open, fresh food seeming to magically appear. The scents of delicious spices and hot meats made the broad man's stomach grumble, but he didn’t dare dig in before greeting his family. The Crownguards seemed relieved he was finally there, however a stern look from his father read 'don't do this again'. It was impossible to please the man, and even his mother seemed unimpressed when he nodded his own greeting to her. Garen wasn't especially close to his parents, but letting them down in anyway was out of the question. Then there was Luxanne, his precious kin- she was his ever understanding sister. Polite, studious, beautiful, but strong as any champion, Garen was extremely protective of her.  She too understood the tyrant-like behavior of their parents and could relate in this. And then there was Prince Jarvan IV, Garen's childhood friend and blood brother- it had been a while since the two officially fought together, but it was the prince's clever humor that kept Garen smiling all throughout their soldier apprenticeship.

The night was lively and beautiful music played on glass instruments, everyone was talking and joking, even the stoic Crownguards who were prompted to join in when the Prince set up a drinking game. However Lux noticed the distant look of her brother who seemed to be staring a little too long into his goblet.

"Are you alright Garen" she whispered, her sunlight eyes shining as she looked up at him "You haven't spoken on your own accord... have you not been sleeping?" concern laced her voice. Garen shook his head, his thumb rubbing the gold of his cup "It's nothing Lux, I've just been... living dully it seems." Lux puffed her cheeks up "Is it that prisoner that you're guarding? I told you not to do it! You've already fought him... let one of you subordinates babysit him, you have better things to do that sit there with a murderer" She shivered, she was obviously quite adverse to the thought of the small yordle menace. "and he wields such cursed magic-" "which is why I must stand by" Garen interrupted "I'm one of the only ones in the prison that can best him should he escape... It is my duty to protect Demacia, and so I must make sure he is locked up safely until his sentence." Lux sighed "I understand brother... you are doing a great thing for our home, but please... do not stress yourself" she put a hand on his shoulder "You did your duty, you captured evil itself... so celebrate now~ you deserve that," she offered a smile before whispering "and besides- this is the only time you shan't have to exercise extreme.. caution... around them" her eyes flickered to her parents before giggling. Garen finally smiled himself, laughing along "Thanks sis… I'll try to enjoy this day- besides" he took his glass, holding it out to the king "This is a day to remember what it is to be a Demacian- to honor our nation's neverending stride to greatness" The king grinned and the whole table fell silent as they reached for their own spirits "For Demacia!"

\---

The stars were swirling in fancy little cursive writing in the sky, and the darkness seemed to palpate as Garen staggered forward. After his announcement and Lux's gentle encouragement he had fallen full swing into the affair, drinking and playing along. But unfortunately the alcohol used was of a higher quality and had hit him harder than the moonshine spread among the soldiers.

For some reason or another he had found himself walking not home to bed but to the prison, the current guards looking at him oddly as he waved by, mumbling something about taking shifts. His gait was sloshing like water in a tub and his speech warbled, but no one dared question the superior as he went straight to Veigar's cell. The current guard on duty was surprised to see the war leader, but Garen sent him away "I will be taking the night shift... I need to have a little... sit down with the rat" The young guard looked concerned, but like his other fellow army men, let Garen do as he wished.

Once the man was gone Garen walked up to the metal bars and rapped loudly on them, his metal hand guards making them shake. "Get up! I need… to talk to you ... you homeless creature, I've been thinking about what you said, and I'm not saying you're right but, you know nothing about me either!"

* * *

The night had the solace of cool air leaving a dull breeze on Veigar’s fur as he lay atop his thin bed. Getting to sleep was made difficult thanks to the rowdy Demacian’s civilians taking part in their festivities and excitement. Having decided the next day would be time to strike, when the majority of Demacia would be hung-over from alcohol consumption, he tossed and turned trying to will sleep upon himself. He needed his rest that night so he could be fully restored when he needed to escape, but Veigar was left groaning as the noise traveled within his cell, making the task near impossible.

“Won’t they shut the fuck uppp—“ Veigar whined, hearing distance hollering as another trumpet blared.

Veig stared at the wall nearest to his bed, the grey surface dull in front of him. Tomorrow, he would never have to look at these cell walls again. He would be free. Free of Demacia. Of the imbecilic inhabitants. And of Garen…

\----

“BAM BAM BAM!”

Veigar jumped suddenly, a high gasp escaping his lips. His cat-like eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly as his head shot over to see the intruder. His heart was in his throat, and he automatically grabbed for his staff, finding only a sheet in his grasp.

“What!?” He hissed. He did a double take, recognizing the Demacian general, only lit by a dim lantern on the nearby desk.

“What…are you doing here…” He rubbed his eyes, but his mind couldn’t possibly piece together why this… _damned_ idiot was waking him up. “What time is it, and why are you here, you fool?”

Was Garen…swaying? He looked like he could barely hold himself up as he grasped onto the bars. Veigar walked over, looking up at his glassy eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me…” Veigar mumbled.

* * *

Veigar's surprised squeak made the tipsy general jump as a pair of cat-like eyes stared at him from the darkness, the shadows concealing all but those two glowing orbs. Garen blinked slowly as the yordle got up and spoke some words, he didn't make them all out, except for a well-placed 'fool'. "You're the fool here!" the leader shouted suddenly, his fist still against the bar "You're a champion of the League but no hero! Yet... you have the nerve.. to question my standing in my own home! Tell me, what right do you have small beast??" He waddled backwards, catching himself "Demacia has always supported me... so why yordle, what supports you? Bandle City is nothing to you, so what's the point.. why do you exist? To hurt others, so you can be the last living thing? HA!" he fell back on the chair "pathetic... it's because you know nothing- nothing of self sacrifice!"

* * *

Veigar grit his teeth, wishing he had his staff in hand so he could end this Demacian's miserable life right here, right now.

"You're drunk...there's no use speaking to you like this..." Veigar could not believe the nerve of this drunken fool. Coming all this way, disrupting his sleep, for what?! To spew more of his nonsense.

The only pride Veigar got out of this ordeal was that his words truly did hurt the soldier, somewhere deep down. It's the only reason he must have felt the need to defend himself. He'd be a lot more humored by the whole thing if it wasn't so damned late...

With that, Veigar wandered back to his bed and climbed in. He hoped the general would wander off and get hit by a caravan.

* * *

"COME BACK HERE!" The general gasped, not so usually defined by those around him. Hitting the bars loudly again he continued to wallow "You... MONSTER - listen to me! It could save you... if you'd just fucking listen!" He was making quite the racket, but the red cheeked man didn't have such a care. "You said Demacia would use me, but you got it wrong! It's not the innocent land... no the Demacians are true, they are noble! No no no... it isn't the cause that traps me..." he took a breath "This is all I know, how could you DARE- d-dare tell me off like I'd have a choice? I must fight for my land, and make the world a better place, for my family, they are counting on me, if I dont... I won't be a SON you understand? I must protect all of Demacia!" He was glaring, drool dribbling a bit from his drunken lips "What do you protect? What do you LOVE? Nothing! You are a devoid creature, selfish... it disgusts me, and you kill with NO remorse! So why do I hope there's something under that filthy hat? Why do I WANT you to be more than your past? Awh fuck, I want to change the world but I can't change you! Answer me this- why are you this way! How can something be evil for the very sake of being evil?"

* * *

Tearing from his bed, Veigar faced Garen, but did not move closer to him from the sanctuary of the darkness. Only his eyes were visible in the pitch black air.

“Why do you ask these things.” Veigar had never held the attention of anyone long enough for them to stay alive from his grasps, the yordle was evil and he was dangerous, what he was beyond that had no meaning. So why did this fool desire to learn so much.

“You know in two weeks’ time, I’ll be dead.” His voice quickened, anger growing as he faced the drunken man, “You speak of savior, but I’m already a corpse to you. You see me as nothing more than a prisoner, a champion with nothing but my own corruptness. So whether I love, or protect, or kill for my own pleasure, what’s in it for you, Garen Crownguard? What will it satisfy for you to know?” Veigar ended on almost a quizzical note. He had no answer to offer the flustered man, only questions himself.

* * *

Garen was quiet a moment, the dazed man obviously very interested in the yordle's words but a bit too beside himself to accurately reply. Instead he stared at Veigar, his face grave, like he was reading a tombstone of someone he once loved. He sighed, a soft hiccup coming from his throat.

"I- I don't think you should die... I realize that- now" he hiccupped again, his words a lil slurred, but forced out so the yordle would hear him "You killed my army, my trained men, my friends, so... I lashed out- but I still don't know anything about you... and I lashed out..."

He shook his head "You're a villain!" he hit the bars again, closer now to Veigar's face as he lowered his own head, eyes locked with the warlock "You're evil as you say, it's senseless, and I kill and destroy every evil creature in my path, I always have... but you, you're... different" Now the man just wasn't making sense, his eyes looked away as if at something distant. "I can't place you, it's a puzzle... I know better, I KNOW what you are, yet... that look you give, how you just stare like you know you're going to die... like you're giving up- I- I don't want to be the cause of that. I wish I killed you in battle, rather than watch your end in court, it would have been more fitting more fair... but now you pay for your crimes... It is fair! It’s fair it's fair..." he repeated to himself "but a champion ought to die in battle... you could have been a real hero- so why? WHY are you this way? What has the world done to you to make you hate it so? To fill your heart with blackness and shun out anything that could bring happiness? It... it makes no sense"

The man fell back on the guard chair, stumped.

* * *

Veigar stared at the man, no words coming out of the small mage’s lips. Veigar…did not understand what Garen meant, or what he was trying to tell him- the yordle was worlds away from realizing that what Garen showed: was concern for him. Instead, he inwardly scoffed at Garen’s low confidence in the warlock.

‘Pfft, me, give up?’ he thought as he observed the tired soldier, his back hunched over as he held his own face in his hands, ‘he does not realize my true control… I’ll be gone by tomorrow and his…pity for me will be no longer needed…’

While Veigar could convince himself of his dismissal of the man, he still found his own eyes trailing over the collapsed man. What did he mean, ‘I could have been a hero!?’ He was the very one who described me as a villain! Veigar was confused, and it irritated him further that the man caught his interest. He decided his boredom in the cell made him more easily persuaded.

“I bring my own happiness. Let me sleep, Demacian…” He said finally, leaving Garen and returning to bed. His pursuit of power was all he needed. With it, he found everything he needed.

* * *

Garen watched as the small creature's rage seemed to spike and then dissipate as quickly as it came, his furry body heaving itself onto the concrete slab that was the cell bed. The Demacian was unsure of what to do now, his fists still gripping the cell bars as he stared, his mouth slightly open.

Eventually Garen's hand dropped from his chin, and he was asleep, his hunched form a snoring mountain, limbs stiff as he sat. It wasn't unlike the war leader to sleep in such odd ways- he once had sleep on his feet for days while on the frontlines. But never had he passed out so willingly in front of an enemy, no matter what sort of barrier was between them. But here, in his drunken state, with the day's celebration and Veigar's lonesome words still echoing in his head, Garen fell asleep.

The next morning the guardsman awoke to a skull pounding headache. He closed his eyes tight as he stretched, loud popping echoing through the prison walls. But between the heartbeats in his head, he remembered.... the disparity, the patheticness, of his display last night. He put his head in his hands, what the hell had gotten over him... He had admitted too much! But still, the memory was hazy, like looking through frosted glass, the words slurred, but Garen could still recall Veigar's face, how he defended himself, the look of confusion...

Sitting up in realization, he looked into the cell-

* * *

Veigar kept his attention focused on his own inner energies, charging up to just the right amount to remain undetected.

‘Today was the day’, the yordle thought as his fur shone with sweat, an inner timer ticking as his yellow pupils flashed to the sleeping jail guard, Garen.

Before long the hungover dolt would awaken, and in the blink of an eye he’d need to battle. He had prepared for this outcome, but he would prefer to leave without confrontation. Like Veigar had said, there was a time and place to show one’s strength, and that time was not now. He needed to keep his attention to his own escape.  Concentrating his magic deep within his core, Veigar made sure the restrictive barrier would not pick up on the surge of power and suppress it with its locking mechanism; ruining his plans of escape. It took years of training his body to not deteriorate under such immense strain dark magic imbibed from its host- the tiny warlock smiled as he looked down at his hand. Within it a small swirling spark emerged, no alarms were set off, and the ball was controllable under his own command: he was ready.

In that exact moment, as if in slow motion, Veigar’s hand shot up- pushing the orb towards the most fragile corner of the cell, a horrific crackling noise erupting as the seal papers sputtered and shred. Garen saw it taking place as he began to wake up out of his daze, but he could not react quick enough, for the mage pulsed out of his metal claws a surge of propulsion magic just strong enough to rip the cell bars of its foundation. Veigar could feel the very success of escape and the thoughts of delicious freedom rushing to his head in a surge of enraptured pride. Dashing towards the startled warrior, Veigar dodged a swing to his head; the soldier was sputtering out to other guards who were mere floors away from their location. The two locked eyes as adrenaline surged- Veigar grabbed at the poor liquor weakened general and knocked him to the ground. Digging his own claws in the Crownguard’s chest, he used binding spells to hold Garen in place, the hard ground being the only support for the two.

Veigar edged closer, ignoring the angry breathing of his captor,

“I guess it is /you/ who is my prisoner now.” Veigar cackled, ear perking beneath his hat as alarms suddenly sounded within the jail. He groaned inwardly. ‘It’s time to speed this up.’ He reminded himself. Why was it so much fun to toy with this lowly fighter?

Grabbing a chunk of the Demacian’s hair in his palm, Veigar tore him upwards so their faces were nearly touching. It had been the first time the two were in such close proximity, but even then Garen could not see through the mask of darkness covering the warlock’s identity,

“Where is my staff.” It was not a question, it was a command.

* * *

Drums of blood were beating in the young warrior’s ears as his eyes, crusted over as if to hide the startling azurean eyes that flashed open so violently, the whites seemed to spark with veins, the pupils trembling as he gasped, his jaw open as he stared into the dark abyss that was his enemy. Being tugged by the roots of his hair and being bound by a binding spell, it was everything Garen could do to face Veigar with an enraged look of hatred, cursing his own tardiness and lack of discipline. How could he had been so stupid! The warrior had been drunk on the job maybe in his teens as a young soldier still in training and cleaning the older guard’s armor in the barracks. But here, representing his entire country and letting his guard down so far as to allow the vagrant to escape? That was unforgivable. It was pure rage in him that made him roar in the mage’s face, as if stomping out to battle with a tirade of men behind him. But he wasn't in any such position of power and Veigar seemed unimpressed. However when it seemed Garen wasn't going to give any information, and with the guards close to the cell room, Veigar could only flee, the magic bound guardsman dragged along like some dead weight, a quick spell making him lighter to carry.

Garen was beside himself, here he was being pulled around like some purse, his feet dragging along against the cobbles painfully, but he could do nothing. The magic seeping through him paralyzed all movement, it was as if his arms and legs had turned to stone. But his throat could still work and work it did, bellowing as Veigar ran through towers and staircases, his short legs carrying him as he scowled back at his prey. “Shut up will you!” with that he sealed Garen’s mouth, angry muffles now sung out in time to the mage’s metal shoes clacking against smooth stone.

“I’ll ask again, where is my staff?” The yordle’s voice had taken on a hiss, venom lacing each word tenderly. Letting Garen speak only lead to more yelling however, his tongue quick to secrecy. Veigar realized he’d never find his staff at this rate and that lingering around any longer would only lead to his capture. So maybe it was a desperate measure, maybe it was foolish, maybe it was because the poor yordle just couldn’t rid himself of the Crownguard, but he knew he’d have to kidnap him, to try to pry information off later once they were alone and safe from abduction.

Garen was confused when Veigar suddenly ran back to the prison, his dread evident as the mage blasted through an entire front of guards, their shining gold armor stained black with soot as dark magic ate at them. Veigar spared no expense in his escape, and everyone in his way would feel his wrath. He promptly, and much to Garen’s incredulous gasp, came upon a prisoner’s caravan, not unlike the one Veigar had been thrown in by Garen just a month ago. He lugged the man in, slamming the gate and kicking the warhorse stationed with the cart. Like lightning they crashed through the city, the metal tipped wooden wheels creaking and banging down stairs and through tunnels as they trampled through. Garen sat in the magic prepared box in astonishment, what had just happened? **He realized with a slow disbelieving cry that he’d been captured, he had failed.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((A lot of shit goes down. Poor Garen.))


End file.
